Page 21 of Mom Ball

“Does it bother you that Timothy is going to work with Nate today?”

I pause from rubbing my wrinkled hands together.

“Timothy told me,” she confesses.

I roll my eyes.

“What’s it going to hurt? He’s the best person to help him with ball. What’s more convenient than a pro baseball player we all know and love living at the end of the driveway?”

“Love?”

Mama touches my elbow gently. “I didn’t mean it that way.” She sighs. “Like.” Her voice is sarcastic and drawn out.

I smirk.

“Seriously, I think it’s good for him. Your daddy never played sports, and your brothers haven’t in ages.” She leans closer and whispers, “They weren’t the best either.”

She leans back against the counter and I laugh. “I guess you make a good point. I want Timothy to do well at anything he decides to do.”

She smiles. “And that’s why you’re a good mother.”

“I hope.” I turn my hands over and make fists. Their current condition is a good way to fight against touching Nate.

Timothy runs in, letting the screen door slam behind him. His breath is heavy when he stops.

“What have you been doing?” I ask.

“Conditioning.” He stretches one arm across his chest and twists.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, running. Getting ready to practice.” He does a few more random stretches, then opens the refrigerator.

I raise an eyebrow at Mama. She winks, and we both try not to laugh.

“I’m going to run home for the car.”

Timothy gives me a thumbs-up with a bottle of Gatorade sucked to his mouth.

We walked over for lunch after changing out of our church clothes. It would be easy to ride the four-wheeler, but I don’t want my hair knotted.

On second thought, I’d best check my overall appearance.

I go in the carriage house and hurry to the bathroom. My lipstick is gone and my foundation could use a touchup. I quickly redo everything but my eyes and pull my hair into a high ponytail. Then I take it back down. I wore a ponytail yesterday.

Groaning, I drop my head on the counter. It shouldn’t matter if I wear back-to-back ponytails. This isn’t Mean Girls.

Am I subconsciously hoping Nate will touch my hair?

I shudder and raise my head. Then I inspect my face once more to make sure I didn’t mess up my forehead.

Timothy is waiting on the front porch when I get to Mama’s house. He runs to the car before I can fully stop. “What took you so long?”

I frown. “Nothing?”

“Did you have to poop?”

“Timothy!”

---